random thoughts – Day 2,345 (Sunday) – screws and loss

Screws. 

Fourteen years ago today, I lost a few screws. (Unleash the loose screw comments. Go ahead, I’ll wait.)

The screws were in my left leg – two at the knee, two at the ankle, and were inserted the previous October with the rod that was set in my shinbone (tibia, if you want to be all correct about it). The fibula also snapped, but it never got any attention during the rebuild. 

I could see the screws under my skin and it grossed me out, so when the surgeon said they could be removed, my response was along the lines of “ok, great, can we do it right now?” Unfortunately, it was not like adding a manicure to the pedicure appointment and required planning and scheduling and transportation coordination due to factors like anesthesia.

I miss these guys.

Once removed, the screws were set into a screw top container (ha, ha) and I took them home. My morbid self had asked for them and I was surprised (and slightly freaked out) at how long they are. They are currently still in the container and somewhere in the house, but it might take some digging to locate them.

While I relaxed on the couch after the quick procedure during which I enjoyed a satisfying drug-induced nap, Moose and Winston, my constant companions, kept me company. I really miss those little guys. 

It stinks that great pets can’t live forever or at least as long as we humans live. Moose shepherded me through a breakup and the immediate aftermath of the broken leg, and Winston joined us several months after the leg injury and added his flavor of support.

The screws are gone from the leg, and so is my full trust in my leg. It’s great for walking, casual hiking, and even belly dance, but those don’t involve jumping or anything even remotely strenuous. This summer’s weekly ballet class has illuminated my lack of trust in my left leg (and ankle) for leaps of any flavor. Leaps used to be my thing. Some of my dancer friends were amazing at spins and holding long poses with an amazing elevation of a leg, and I loved the hang time in a leap and often received the teacher feedback of “great push off” when we did grand jetes across the back of the room. 

In dance, it was leaps, and in roller derby we had to jump over objects while skating to pass our skills test. Now, I barely trust myself to do a tiny hop over a crack. The broken leg broke my spirit. I’ve known it for a while, but it’s become shockingly obvious to me lately. I gained a titanium rod and lost the bold and zesty version of myself I was before it happened. It’s been gone so long now I don’t know if it’s possible to get even a sliver of it back.